Chapter 8 – A PLACE AT THE TABLE

Three hours later, the estate was quiet.

The police had come and gone. Vincent’s lawyers had worked miracles, painting the attack as a failed home invasion by a known local gang. The bodies of the Moretti men, and Caroline’s brother Thomas, had vanished before the sirens even arrived.

Caroline was in police custody for fraud and conspiracy, having been found sobbing hysterically on the front lawn. Mark was in an ambulance under police guard.

I was sitting in the massive kitchen, a cup of untouched tea cooling in front of me.

The door pushed open, and my daughter, Maya, rushed in.

“Mom!”

I stood up, the chair scraping loudly, and caught her in a bone-crushing hug. She was crying, burying her face in my shoulder.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she sobbed. “A man in a suit came to the dorm. He told the guy who was holding me to leave, or he’d kill him. Then he put me in a car and brought me here.”

I looked up over her shoulder.

Vincent was standing in the doorway, his arm resting lightly on the handle of his mother’s wheelchair. He had washed the blood off his face and changed into a clean sweater. He looked exhausted, but the hard, dangerous edge had melted away.

“I sent my best men to get her the moment Thomas hung up the phone,” Vincent said quietly. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

I wiped my tears and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. DeLuca.”

“Vincent,” he corrected me.

Helen wheeled herself forward. She was holding a thick, cream-colored envelope.

“Nora,” she said, her voice gentle. “I am an old woman who has survived a lot of terrible men. But I have rarely met a brave woman. You saved my life tonight. You saved my grandson’s life.”

She held out the envelope.

“This is a deed to a townhouse in the city, fully paid. Close to your daughter’s nursing school. The tuition is handled. And there is a permanent position for you here, managing this household, if you want it.”

I stared at the envelope. It was more money than I could make in three lifetimes.

“I… I can’t accept all of this,” I stammered.

“You can, and you will,” Helen said firmly, slapping the envelope down on the kitchen counter. “Because if you don’t, I’ll have to hire another agency nurse, and they never make my tea right.”

I let out a wet, breathless laugh. Maya squeezed my hand.

“Where is Leo?” I asked, looking around.

“Upstairs,” Vincent said, his expression softening. “He’s asleep in my old bedroom. He’s going to stay here with us. He’s family.”

Helen looked up at her son, a rare smile gracing her wrinkled face. “He has Michael’s eyes, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Vincent agreed. “He does.”

Vincent walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up the small box of family photographs that Caroline had forced me to pack hours ago. He pulled out the photo of his father and set it carefully on the mantle above the kitchen fireplace.

Then he picked up the two suitcases I had packed for his mother.

“I’ll take these upstairs, Mom,” Vincent said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Helen reached out and took my hand, giving it a firm, warm squeeze.

“No,” she said, looking around the kitchen that finally felt safe. “I’m exactly where I belong.”

TITLE: THE MORNING AFTER

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